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T he sharp and well-tended blade of Léon’s axe was not made for chopping wood, but it snapped through the driest patch of floorboards Léon could find as well as it would have snapped through any neck.

Henry pulled vines and ancient ash from the tumble-down hearth, what was left of it.

He gathered the shards of wood into a pile and clicked to life the fire striker Léon had packed.

It took them several tries, but they soon had a warm place in the cold house.

Léon found the socks he’d packed for Henry, and regretted both that he hadn’t offered them earlier, and that he had no spare boots.

He suggested they look to buy some in the next town, but Henry insisted Léon keep his money.

He asked Léon if he was hungry, and it was with an embarrassed shade of pink that Léon admitted food hadn’t figured greatly in his many-faceted plan of escape.

He’d assumed they could buy something along the way.

In response, Henry whistled.

A partridge landed on the floorboards, in between them.

Léon took his meaning, accompanying a wary glance with, “I thought you said it trusted us.”

“That was the yellowhammer,” Henry replied.

Then on the next breath, he said simply, “Die.”

The bird fell in a heap, still warm, utterly, brutally lifeless.

Henry studied Léon coolly.

A great and sweet magic, it had seemed to Léon moments earlier.

But he realised at once, the truth of it was more complicated.

The responsibility of it.

The ease of it. Having been born with such a terrifying power over life and death.

But all he asked was, “How did you discover you could do that?”

Henry picked the bird up and began plucking feathers.

“I just said it one day. I was very young, and I don’t think I ever thought it would actually work. After the fact, I realised I hadn’t wanted it to. It was just a stupid thing a young boy said, and it was done.” Concentrating hard on his work, “It was a deer. Can you imagine my heartbreak?”

Léon shook his head.

Not that Henry saw it.

“It was very confronting. Animals don’t listen especially well when they’re dead, and try as I might, I couldn’t bring it back. I began to think there was something very wrong with me after that. Which I suppose there is.”

“I wish I could do that,” Léon said gently.

“With people.” He worried briefly over whether Henry might take the comment the wrong way, but after one stark second of silence, Henry leaned forward and kissed him.

He moved back, but Léon grabbed him and kissed him again.

The burning fire brought out golden flecks in Henry’s eyes.

“You always understand. You should never have forgiven me for the awful things I did. But you saw what I was. Why do you always understand?”

With a blush, Léon dropped his head to work at the feathers.

“We get along okay, don’t we?”

“I’ve never been in love,” Henry said.

“But I’ve read a lot about it. And I think it must feel like…” He stopped short, Léon’s eyes averted, sadness rearing up again.

“Will you come to Paris?”

“Henri…” he sighed, with a soft shake of his head.

He reached into his saddle bag for his knife, so Henry continued plucking the bird, telling his story.

“My sister was born after that. After I’d stopped going near animals. And she was different. When she was a baby, and she was a very angry baby,” Léon punctuated his speech with a chuckle, which brought a smile to Henry’s lips, “things would shake. Things would occasionally break. Fall off shelves. I knew what it was. I sensed it. My father didn’t believe me, but my mother…” His hands slowed over the work.

“It comes from her. But she keeps it secret. She suppresses it. She told us to never, never tell anyone. That it was a curse. I think she tried with my sister, to teach her to control it, but she’s a wayward girl. At best. And a wonderful girl. I love her dearly, and she’s not in any way a burden. But this one thing…” He glanced up at Léon.

“It is a curse. It follows us. When she was in prison, I was awaiting news every second of the calamity. You couldn’t have known, but émile,” Léon’s eyes sharpened at his name, “he was safer out there with me. It was the one comfort I took from having done it.”

The wretched feeling of loss came over Léon again, sickening.

The thought of Henry having been the one to make him feel that way.

“I still don’t understand why you chose me.”

Cheeks reddening, “If I tell you the truth, I think you might think I’m an idiot.”

Léon looked him dead in the eye.

“I already think you’re an idiot, Henri.” Henry's smile was too beautiful to resist, so Léon kissed him again. “Tell me.”

“Well, it’s…” He continued a distracted plucking. “The afternoon they brought Catherine to Reims… I was wandering the town, discovering where the prison was, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. And I came across your…” Léon nodded. What to call it? “I saw you up on the scaffold, and I won’t lie, I’d never seen a more beautiful man in all my life. You were like an angel.”

“L’Ange de la Mort,” Léon reflected sadly.

“No. You were more than that. I saw your show, and I saw your axe, and I heard all the things people said about you, about how good looking you were and how dangerous you were. But that last death…” Léon paused, and Henry brought a hand to his own chest, as though reliving the memory. “You unlaced your cloak, and you put it on the floor to catch her head. And I thought… I can’t imagine another executioner in all the world doing something like that. Something so kindhearted and thoughtful in those last moments.”

Léon swallowed hard against the memory, but Henry talked on. “I saw a kindness in you that day. Or I thought I did. I pinned all of it, the lot, on that one act. And when you left the bar that night, it was cold out there in the alley. And you had no cloak. And since then, I’ve never seen you wear it. And I know you probably can’t afford to just go and buy a new one. You buried her with it, didn’t you?”

Léon gave a slow tilt of his head, which brought the tips of Henry’s fingers to brush against his knee. “There’s a nobility in you. Right in your heart. That was the first moment I realised. And since then… I’ve discovered I was right. Everything you’ve done. You’re like a soft place in a barrel full of nails.”

Léon half smiled, too sad at the memory to give more. “She was my Godmother.” He laughed. It came out with a touch of hysteria about it. His eyes misted, and he smiled lopsided.

Henry could see how close to the surface that madness was. Léon hadn’t said a word about it. Not one. Tight-lipped from the start, pushing it down. But Henry had raked it up, turned it over, and exposed it.

Léon said, “I had a family. I had a beautiful family. My mother was so good to me. So full of love. My father, he was kind, and his hugs… They were warm. I miss that. It’s been years since anyone…” He fought back his tears, and failed. “I miss them every day. I miss the feeling of being in a room full of people, and you know they love you. No matter what. émile was so little. He remembers some of it. But after my father…” Rather than give into the tears any more than he already had, he hardened. “My mother wasn’t the same after that. She couldn’t love anymore. Or not the same way. And what I’d become changed her, and émile didn’t handle any of it well. His dad was gone, you know? And I tried to help. Because then we found out she was pregnant. She was going to have another baby, and…”

His expression pulled tight, and he pressed his lips against the words. “The baby came early, and… and she was dead. A little girl. Dead already. And then… my mother got a fever.” His shaking fingers plucked the bird quickly, unsteadily. “And then it was just us. Marie, my Godmother, she was my mother’s best friend. She was grieving my mother too, but she helped us through everything. She couldn’t take us in. She had nothing, no room, no food. But we all made do, because what choice do you have? But then… She ended up getting caught for theft. They said she killed the man she stole from, but I know she didn’t. She stole what she found on his body. But he was already dead. And maybe that was wrong, but he didn’t need it. And she had kids to feed. What was she supposed to do? I wish she’d come to me. I would have done something. We were saving that money. And I had it. If she’d only asked…” he whispered. “And I loved her.” Tears welling up, “And that was a very bad day.”

For the first time, Henry understood why Léon had been blind drunk that night. That he’d hired a babysitter so he could try to manage the trauma of the whole mess alone, just for that one night. Then Henry had stuck a knife under his chin.

He shuffled around to be by his side, taking an arm around his shoulder, which Léon leaned his whole body into, saying, “I wish I had some control. I’ve never had that. It was all I could do to keep a sharp blade.”

Henry kissed his hair, rubbing his arm. “It’s a rotten world. And I made it even worse for you.”

Léon tilted his head up. “Kiss me.” Cradling him, Henry leaned down and placed the requested peck on his lips. Léon caught the collar of his shirt and held him close. “I’m not happy you did it. But I’m glad we’re here. Together at last.”

Love—or whatever it was—bloomed in Henry’s heart, full and strong, an obsessive flush of it. He kissed Léon again, then wrapped his arms tight around him, holding him close against his chest.

Léon mused, “You don’t seem English.”

Henry’s laugh was relief, a breaking of tension, and a deep fondness. “I’m not. Not really. English mother, French father. And while I’ve spent most of my life there, I’ve lived a lot of it in Paris too. I was schooled there for years. France is home to me, just as much as England. Even more so now.” This last comment he delivered with a gentle kiss on Léon’s cheek, laying the implication out for him. “I’m not going back to England, and in Paris?—”

Léon laughed. “Always ‘in Paris’.”

“The only thing it’s missing is you.” Henry kissed him again. Léon yielded easily, and how sweet his skin felt beneath Henry’s fingers. “Explain to me, how can one man be so alluring?”

“I wanted you,” Léon whispered, eyes closed, letting his jaw be kissed as though he were a Greek god born for the purpose of pleasure. “That first night, when you took me into the alley. I wanted you.”

Henry paused, lightly shocked, certainly amused. “In the alley?”

A gorgeous, becoming embarrassment turned Léon’s head away, which only drew Henry’s keen lips, hot breath on his ear, as he slipped a hand down towards Léon’s firming cock. “What did you want me to do?”

“Everything, Henri.” Léon pressed against him. “There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t have done for you if you’d just asked.”

“Fuck,” Henry hissed. “Are you serious?”

Léon’s tongue met his swiftly, cheekily. “I hoped that’s why you’d taken me there. I wanted you to make me.” Henry’s dick begged for Léon, so he tried to pull away, but Léon caught him around the neck. “Do it now.”

“Why are you so enchanting?”

“If you’re enchanted, then don’t stop.”

Henry shook his head, willing as his body was. “We can’t here.”

“Why not here?”

“Do you know how these things work? I can’t just…” He let out a sharp gasp at the delicious bite on his shoulder. “Believe me, I want you. You’re so tempting.” Henry laid a strong hand on Léon’s throat, which Léon responded to with rapt obedience, stilling. “When you said you’d never kissed a man, I didn’t believe you. Because I can see your lips. They’re irresistible.” He kissed them. “But if you haven’t, then I’m going to guess you haven’t done all the rest either.”

The irresistible lips twisted. “Does that matter?”

“Léon, if we do it now, I’ll hurt you. And I want it to be good. I want you to remember me that way.”

For the first time in his life, Léon got to enjoy a different kind of intimacy. Henry’s refusal was a care of him. He felt how much Henry wanted him, and he pushed it, over and over, inspiring a day of kisses and embraces, and promises of what was to come should they get a chance to be alone somewhere more suitable, as Henry explained the ins and outs, so to speak, of his plans for Léon.

They watched the sun sinking with foreboding, and they heard the calls of evening animals with heavy hearts.

As they left, the little cottage, which had at first seemed so broken down and damp and miserable, felt like the warmest, safest place on earth.

It was a mercy the horses moved for them, because neither would have been able to find the strength to do it themselves. They got along far too well. Far too well, now they’d finally bridged the gap, and they walked their animals so close their knees touched, refusing to miss a word the other had to speak, all through the night.

When they finally got to Amiens, it was many hours later and still dark, but chimneys were smoking and people were making all the busy movements of a new day opening. They rode on the western side of town, just as far on the outskirts as they thought might still be within city limits. They commenced an inn by inn search for their group.

It took only three, some distance apart, until a very tired man, called from his bed, asked sleepily, “Léon Lyon?”

“Yes!” Léon cried happily. “That’s me!”

“One moment.”

He toddled away through some curtains, whence they knew not, and Henry, stooping to see he was out of sight and earshot, wrapped his fingers around Léon’s. Léon turned to him, half excited to see his brother and Souveraine, but held in the heaviness of the scene. That this might be their last moment alone together.

He didn’t know what to say in the brief few seconds they had, but Henry did. “Please come to Paris. Please. Let’s not throw this away. It’s too perfect.”

Léon chanced a step towards him, a hand at his waist, two hips pressing together. “Don’t make it hard. We knew this was coming.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered, his palm on Léon’s cheek, as though he’d never tire of the sensation. “Yesterday and last night, even just riding about in the cold… This is the happiest I’ve been in years.” He gave a furtive glance to the curtains, rushing out his final plea in a frantic whisper. “I’ve really had the best and most beautiful day with you, and if you could just give me a chance?—”

“No, Henri. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give me that. What we have?—”

He silenced Henry with a finger on his lips, which drew a melting kiss. “When are you going to see?” He took the same finger from his lips and ghosted it across his cheek. “Fate does not want you and me to be together.”

The curtain ruffled, and they stepped apart as the landlord returned. “Sorry, it took me a few moments to find it. Madame Lyon left this letter for you.”

“What?” Léon’s fingers were busy ripping the seal off even as he asked the question, utterly ignorant of the scowl Henry threw his way at Souveraine’s use of his surname.

He shoved it at Henry to be read, studying him as he went through a violently differing range of emotions. Shock, worry, urgency, confusion, and somewhere in amongst it, an astounded and tentative sort of… relief? Happiness?

“They’ve left,” Henry reported, voice thick, heart beating wildly.

“What do you mean, they’ve left?” Léon whispered desperately.

With a beautiful smile and eyes that glowed so warmly Léon wanted to drown in them, “They’ve all gone to Paris.”